The Miracle Man
by Miss Construed
Summary: Sookie is a successful TV producer who can face just about anything, except the arrogant chef that's thrown in her path.  Hilarity and fun ensue in this Kiss A Cook Entry.  Rated M for language and Mmm Mmm Goodness.


**AN: **This was my entry into the Kiss A Cook contest. Thanks to the judges and hosts of that contest - it was a lot of fun! If you haven't had a chance, you should go read the other entries, particularly the winning entry by pfloogs72, Baby's Got Sauce. It is fantastic!

So here is the Miracle Man, complete with the missing sequence breaks (and boy are there a lot of them!) Hope you enjoy!

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I had been twenty-five years old the first time I heard Eric Northman's name.

I did not seek him out, nor did I know he even existed when I crossed the threshold to his restaurant in Stockholm. Stockholm had been the last stop on a two week vacation I had been taking with my then boyfriend Bill Compton, and at the recommendation from my boss, we had booked a table at the small restaurant to celebrate our anniversary.

The tasting menu had been a bit much for Bill – he was more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy; but I had been in heaven from the first course of scallop and wood sorrel, through the duck's liver bonbon and ending with caramel crème. The chef had managed to capture a simple, innovative menu that I had not seen in my short career as a production assistant at a national cooking channel.

Bill had been impatient to leave and get back to our hotel room when the waiter brought our check, and I hadn't had the opportunity to introduce myself to the chef as I would have normally liked to, but I had asked the waiter for the chef's name, and that name had stuck with me.

Even four years and many life changes later, I can recall the meal with clarity. In many ways, that meal had been the turning point for my life. It was the moment when I realized that I wanted to continue working in the food industry, and the meal that had started the demise of my three year relationship with Bill Compton. I had always secretly attributed the change to Chef Northman, even if I hadn't had the opportunity to ever meet him.

You could imagine my surprise when I heard the name Eric Northman in conjunction with a new project the network was considering. We were sitting in our weekly planning meeting, usually nothing more than a formality to go over everyone's production schedules and coordinate usage of the soundstages, but that day was different. We had received word the week before that one of the network's staple hosts was planning to off the air and back to his restaurants at the end of this season.

Claudine had been in high gear for the past week, pulling in every connection she had to find a possible replacement for his time slot. It had to be someone that was well established and could take the place of the network's biggest star.

"I think I have found someone," she said with a smile, and clicked through the screens of her computer. "It's a hit show in the UK that I think will translate well to American audiences." She pulled up a video file and hovered her mouse over the play button. "It's called 'Cooking with the Stars' and has every element we're looking for – good technique, personable host, and something we've been missing at the network lately… sex appeal."

I tried to stifle my groan at Claudine's words. I could only imagine what we were about to see. She'd been going on and on about needing to sex up the network lately, trying to keep in competition with the other national network's lineup of cleavage baring chefs. I couldn't agree less, but certainly wasn't in a position to argue with Claudine Crane. Her grandfather Niall, after all, was the founder of the network. If she wanted sex appeal, that's what we'd give her.

I was dead set on hating it the second Claudine pressed the play button, but all negative thoughts flew out the window as soon as the blond chef came onto the screen. He was beautiful; almost too beautiful. And it was clear that the man knew how to cook. I was mesmerized as his hands chopped and diced the food before him, and his descriptions in his slightly accented English were nothing short of enthralling.

The premise of the show was actually quite simple – a chef who taught celebrities (well, B and C list celebrities) how to cook simple meals - not that I imagined anyone thought they actually would ever cook for themselves.

The interaction between host and guest celebrity was engaging – the right mix of lesson and flirtation. Maybe Claudine was right; maybe sexing the shows would get us higher ratings, and there was no denying that this particular host brought the sex appeal.

As soon as the clip ended, I turned my attention back to Claudine. "Who is that?" I asked. It was my job to make sure that I knew my competition; but I had never seen the blond chef in my life.

"He is _the _hottest thing in Europe right now. He's been popular in the UK and Scandinavia for some time now, and Niall finally convinced him to make the transition over to the pond."

"But who is he?" I repeated. "What's his name?"

"Oh," Claudine said with a shake of her head, "Eric Northman."

"What?" I practically shrieked. When Claudine stared at me blankly, I quickly cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, what did you say the chef's name is?"

"Eric Northman," she repeated, looking at me as if I have a screw or two loose. "Do you know him?"

"No," I shook my head. I looked back at the screen, dissecting the frozen image of the blond chef in front of me. This was Eric Northman? The man who had changed my life four years ago? I had always imagined him to be hunched over and middle aged, not this virile man in front of me.

"I don't know all the details, but I do know that Niall's been pushing him to come over for quite some time now. And," she added with a knowing grin, "you, Sookie, are going to get to know Mr. Northman better than the rest of us. I've been told he needs special handling, and we all know that there is no one here that can handle a difficult chef better than you."

...

You would think that having an attractive and personable host to work with would make the job a lot easier.

It didn't.

Like many of the chefs before him, Eric Northman had a bit of a God complex. And when I say a bit of a God complex, I mean I'm fairly sure he believed creation started and ended with him. I really shouldn't have expected anything less; all the chefs that I had encountered all had a touch of arrogance, and that was even without being blessed with Eric Northman's genetics.

From the minute he crossed the doorway of our conference room, I knew he was going to be trouble.

His eyes had raked my entire body, and he'd done nothing to hide the seconds when he stared at my breasts with an appreciative smile. When he finally had met my eyes, he winked – yes, actually winked – and told me that he thought he would indeed like working under me. Every comment throughout the meeting was laced with innuendo, from how good he was with his hands (and would I like a demonstration?) to how he came prepared with his own swizzle stick. It had taken everything I had not to gag at that point.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, turning to my production assistant Amelia the minute Eric and his agent left the room. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

She was silent as I pushed out of my chair and began to pace.

"I don't know what in the hell Claudine expects me to do with that." I pointed to the closed door before burying my face in my hands. I had spent years cajoling the chefs on the network – Claudine said I had a gift for dealing with the talent, but I knew it was really nothing more than the good old-fashioned manners that Gran had instilled in me. But I could unequivocally say that even the worst chefs I had ever worked with were nothing in comparison to Eric Northman.

"Perhaps tell him to shut up and let the camera do the talking?" Amelia asked with a smirk. When I didn't respond, she continued. "Oh, come on Sookie, even you have to admit that the man is good looking."

"And an asshole."

"Yes, that too I suppose, but I'm willing to overlook a few character flaws when it comes wrapped in a package like that, particularly since he can cook too."

"Staring at my boobs the entire meeting hardly qualifies as a character flaw." No, blushing in response to his gaze was a character flaw; the act itself was nothing more than bad behavior. Eric Northman had all the bad qualities of a master chef alright; he was arrogant, condescending and elitist. Throw in a side of sexual harassment and that was all I needed to know.

"I'm sure you're the first woman that's objected to Eric Northman's attentions."

"Well, God help me, because if he keeps up like this, I don't know what I'll do."

...

The weeks of preproduction hadn't gone much better. The illustrious Chef Northman would pop in and out of meetings at his convenience, with no apparent concept that the rest of us had other jobs to do. He had been photographed out at clubs with so many female celebrities that I could barely keep count; and he hadn't said anything to me yet that didn't imply he wanted to have sex with me, no matter who was within hearing range.

"Northman!" I reprimanded through the headset on the first day of shooting. We had secured an up and coming actress for the pilot episode. She was young and beautiful, two things that had not passed Eric's notice. "Could you please stop staring at Dawn's tits for one minute?"

I saw the smirk cross his face before his eyes lifted to look at me through the camera.

"What's that, Sookie?" he asked, thickening his accent in the way he knew annoyed me to no end. He only did it when he was playing stupid, something I knew he was far from being.

"Stop ogling the goods and get on with the food," I repeated. "We only have two hours to get all these shots in."

He stared at me through the camera. Even knowing that he couldn't see me in the production room, I still got a chill. "Yours are better."

His lips barely moved and I wondered if I was imagining things. "What's that?"

"Yours are better," he repeated. His eyes darted back to Dawn's chest. "Yours are definitely better."

I covered the microphone on my headset and closed my eyes, counting to ten. If I had known that working with Eric Northman would prove as troublesome as it had been, I never would have signed up for the job, even if Niall had gotten down on his knees and begged me to do it himself.

When I opened my eyes again, there were five sets of eyes looking at me, was waiting for my direction to get this set back on track.

"Eric," I said, smiling through clenched teeth, "the only breasts I want you even thinking about right now are the boneless, skinless variety that are sitting on the counter, waiting for your special treatment. Do you understand?"

His smile broadened on the monitor in front of me. "I could give yours my special treatment if you'd like."

"Jesus Christ," I groaned. My eyes met Amelia's across the room, who was watching the interaction between Eric and me with a smirk.

"I've been called a God before," Eric's voice chirped into my headset, "but I have to say you're the first that's called me Jesus. Does that mean you'll let me give them the Northman treatment?"

"Even you aren't capable of the kind of miracle that would let you get anywhere near them, Northman. Why don't you start with the basics and try to turn that water into wine so we can all get out of here?" I said, returning my attention to the tiny monitor. It was a shame Eric Northman was as talented of a chef as he was; there is absolutely no other reason I would put up with this line of bullshit, no matter how photogenic he may be.

...

The remaining days of filming went much the same – Eric behaving inappropriately with every female guest, and me yelling at him through the headset. I had fallen into bed an exhausted mess every night, only to be woken up by the buzz of my alarm clock so that I could be at the office before anyone else got there.

On the final day of shooting, I was sitting in my office reviewing the first episode when there was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I called, not looking up from the screen.

"Sookie." The voice was unmistakable. I pressed pause just as the screen version of Eric's arm brushed across soap opera star Arlene Fowler's chest en route to a bundle of basil. I turned my head to look at the man in the flesh. I had set a good precedent after the first week of shooting – I would be civil to him on the set, but steered clear of him whenever the camera was off. It was the only way I could manage to keep my sanity.

"What do you want, Eric?" I asked without much ceremony.

"It's lovely to see you too," he said with a smirk and sat down in the chair across from me. His long legs bent awkwardly at the knee in the low chair, but he didn't seem to care.

I rolled my eyes and pushed my reading glasses off my face. "Oh, excuse me; to what do I owe the pleasure, Eric?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That's more like it," he replied, giving me a lopsided grin. "I was wondering what time we'd be done with the shoot today, and Amelia suggested I come talk to you."

"Why, do you have a hot date?"

"Something like that," he replied with a wistful grin.

"Anyone I know?" Based on what I knew of Eric's lifestyle since moving to the greater LA area, I wouldn't be surprised if it was any number of ambitious celebutants.

"I doubt it," he responded with a shrug. "But I know how much you love to hear the details of my life." Between the tabloids covering Eric's comings and goings, and the stories that the set's makeup artist Lafayette regaled me with on a daily basis, I doubted there was much about Eric I didn't know.

"You're right," I said, picking up the remote, "probably best not to know. We should be out of here by four." Or, at least, I hoped to be out of there by four. I had promised my Gran that I would stop by her retirement community for their annual talent show. I hadn't missed once since I'd convinced her to move to LA, and I wasn't planning on ending that streak.

When Eric didn't move, I continued. "Does that work for you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "That's perfect."

"Glad I can be of service, Northman," I replied, and turned my attention back to the screen. And for once, he didn't have some snide comeback about exactly how he'd like me to service him. All I heard was the slight scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor and his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

...

Shooting ran longer than expected, thanks to Sophie-Anne Leclerq spilling a pot of water all over her white shirt. It had taken everything in me not to scream at her pathetic attempt to catch Eric's attention. She was a known social climber, with more silicone inside her than common sense. The only reason we had agreed to have her on the show was that she was well connected to one of the network heads.

She'd spent the entire day trying to get Eric to notice her, and for once, he didn't seem to care. After the tenth stunt, I had been surprised that he hadn't asked her over for private serving of sausage, but he seemed to be in another place as soon as the camera stopped rolling.

I nearly squealed with delight as soon as the director told me he had the last shot he needed. Thanks to the Sophie-Anne delay, we were already thirty minutes off schedule, and I couldn't afford to waste another minute if I planned on making it to Gran's show.

By some stroke of good fortune, the traffic was light as I drove out to the Bon Temps Community, and I made it across town in thirty minutes just as the audience was being seated.

"My, my, Sookie Stackhouse," a familiar voice called as I walked into the auditorium. I turned to see one of my Gran's good friends, Maxine Fortenberry, coming towards me. She had dyed her hair an outrageous shade of purple, which was the exact shade of her velour jumpsuit. "I was wondering if you were going to make it this year. Your Gran said you are working on a new show?"

"Sure am, Maxine," I said with a smile. "We just wrapped up the last shot an hour ago."

"Mmmm," she said with a dismissive nod. "You got yourself a boyfriend yet? You know, Hoyt still talks about you."

I stifled a groan and shook my head. Maxine had been trying to set me up with her son from the minute I met her. In a moment of weakness, I had agreed to go to dinner with him. Big mistake. It had been the most painful date of my life. Hoyt was a nice enough guy, but he could barely string two words together without blushing.

"How is Hoyt?" I asked out of politeness.

"Doing great." Maxine lowered her voice and leaned forward. "He's been promoted at work and is working as the foreman on the freeway project near Santa Monica. You should stop by and see it some time."

"Um… yeah, maybe…" I trailed off. What was I supposed to do? Tell her that I thought Hoyt may have a heart attack if I showed up at his worksite? Thankfully, we were interrupted before I had to complete my sentence.

"You leave poor Sookie alone," Gran's friend Maudette said, stopping to give me a hug. "You know your boy would faint if Sookie showed him the slightest interest." I had to stifle my laughter as Maxine's mouth flapped open and closed, and was thankful when Maudette took my hand and began to lead me towards the front row. "Don't you mind Maxine," she said with a reassuring pat. "She's as crazy as that hair of hers."

I nodded. "Is Gran nervous?"

"Is your Gran ever nervous for these things?" she asked, with a dismissive shake of her head. "You'd think Adele was born to be on the stage the way she takes to these things."

"What's she doing this year? She wouldn't tell me."

"You know she'd throttle me if I ruined her surprise for you, Sookie. You just sit there and look pretty while you wait to see what we put on."

The lights dimmed less than a minute later and the director of the community came out to welcome everyone to the show. They really had quite the production value for the talent show, though I shouldn't be surprised given the proximity to LA and the number of residents who had their own profiles on IMDb with more than a few titles to their credit.

There were any variety of performers: singers, dancers, poets, actors and musicians. When Gran came out and sang the lullaby she had sung to me as a small child, I couldn't stop a tear from coming to my eye. She looked beautiful up there on the stage, with her hair in her trademark chignon and a flowing pink dress I had helped her pick out last month.

I was dabbing my eyes with a Kleenex when the next act came on stage, and I froze in midair when I saw the performers. Standing on the stage was a new resident of the community I hadn't seen before, and Eric Northman.

I blinked, testing my eyesight to make sure I wasn't imagining things; sure enough, it was Eric. He guided the older gentleman into a chair and handed him the cello he had carried out, then took his own seat at the piano. It wasn't until halfway through the Rachmaninoff piece that Eric noticed me in the audience. He didn't miss a beat, but I could see the surprise in his eyes when he spotted me.

I hadn't known he was a pianist, though I supposed that being good with his hands in the kitchen would translate well into music. That was shock enough, but it was nothing compared to the surprise I felt at seeing Eric out of his native environment of bimbos and booze.

I tried to pay attention to the remaining acts, but I couldn't stop thinking about Eric. What was he doing here? And who was that gentleman he was with?

I was on my way to see Gran backstage when I felt a warm hand encircle my arm.

"Eric!" I exclaimed, sounding terribly out of breath for someone that hadn't walked more than thirty feet.

"Hi Sookie," he said with a smile.

"What…" I started, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"My Gran lives here. Adele Stackhouse?" He shook his head. "She performed right before you did with…"

"My grandfather," he replied, a light coming into his eyes. "Fintan Northman."

"I didn't know you played." No one could accuse me of being Katie Couric.

"Guilty as charged," he said, lifting his hands up and wiggling his fingers. "But I'd say there's a lot you don't know about me, Sookie."

"I didn't realize…"

"That someone like me had a family?" he asked with a smirk. When I started to protest, he shook his head. "No, that's probably not fair. I say things I shouldn't around you all the time."

I couldn't believe that I was standing there, having this conversation with the man who had systematically driven me crazy for the past two months. I had thought I had him pegged; that I knew everything there was to know about Eric Northman.

"He moved to LA with me, but decided that he'd rather live on his own. Apparently I was too much of a homebody for him," he said with a shrug.

I snorted at the thought of Eric Northman being reprimanded for not being enough of a party boy. "Are you trying to tell me that the tabloids have you all wrong?"

"You'd be surprised," he said with a shrug. "I've got an ambitious publicist."

"I'm sure it's such a chore to be seen with a different woman every night," I said, rolling my eyes for effect.

I squirmed when he didn't say anything. I couldn't help but go there, for as shocked as I was to see him at his grandfather's talent show, I had worked with him long enough to know the truth about him, or so I thought.

"I've, uh…" I said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Eric!" a deep voice sounded from behind me. I turned to see the man he had been on stage with – his grandfather I guessed – approaching us. "There you are. And who is this lovely lady?"

"This is Sookie Stackhouse," Eric replied. "Sookie, this is my grandfather, Fintan Northman."

"Stackhouse?" Fintan's eyes lit up. "Are you Adele's granddaughter?"

"Guilty as charged," I said, holding my hands up. "Do you know Adele?"

"Very well," Fintan nodded. "Very well indeed. If I may say, you are just as beautiful as your grandmother."

"Thank you," I said, feeling myself blush. I looked at Eric from the corner of my eye and saw that his eyes were on me.

"How do you two know each other?" Fintan asked, looking between Eric and me.

"Sookie is my producer," Eric answered, sounding tense.

"The one you always talk about?" Fintan asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not that I blame you. She is quite beautiful."

I looked down at my clasped hands. Eric talked about me to his grandfather? I wondered what he said.

"Have you agreed to go out on a date with my grandson yet, Sookie?" Fintan asked, pulling my attention back to him.

"Um…" I shook my head. "No. He hasn't… well… no," I finished lamely. Hadn't asked me? As if I would say yes if he did. I wouldn't, I reassured myself.

"Granddad!" Eric interjected, placing a hand on Fintan's arm. "I'm sure that Sookie has better things to do than get the third degree from you, right Sookie?" His eyes met mine, and I saw a hint of embarrassment in their depths.

"Um…" God, what was wrong with me? I felt like I couldn't form a sentence if my life depended on it. "Yeah. I… should go find Gran." I tore my gaze away from Eric and smiled in Fintan's direction. "It was nice to meet you Mr. Northman. You are a talented musician."

"Thank you, Sookie. Now, you be nice to my boy here, you promise?"

"Granddad!" Eric exclaimed.

"I will," I replied, then turned around before I could say anything more. I could feel Eric's eyes on me as I walked away. Perhaps I didn't know everything there was to know about him after all.

...

I didn't see Eric until a week later at the wrap party for the crew on Cooking with Stars, not that I hadn't thought about him. It would have been difficult to ignore his existence entirely, considering that I had spent nearly every waking hour in the editing room with Russell and Talbot, going through the shots of Eric, frame by frame.

The first episode had been shown to the network executives earlier that day, and Claudine had told me that they had ordered ten more episodes on the spot. That meant at least another two months of working side by side with Eric. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to work with him again, not after being exposed to the other side of him.

The night started out no differently than any of the other wrap parties I had attended in my tenure at the network. Per tradition, as the show's star, Eric had full control over the menu and the set. It was his chance to be the director, producer and editor. When I walked onto the set, I was surprised by the sparse décor. The last wrap party I had been to had been a flurry of decoration and overdesign, but this was simple, understated elegance.

I took my seat next to Lafayette – grateful for the open seating – and prepped myself to see Eric for the first time since I'd left him with his grandfather. He seemed different he came out of the prep kitchen and told us the menu he had prepared. I felt myself blush when his eyes locked on mine and the corners of his lips turned up, so I spent the next minute of his explanation spreading the white linen napkin over my lap.

The food was divine - as was to be expected - and the wine flowed freely throughout the meal. I hadn't tasted Eric's food since that dinner with Bill four years before; I had always rushed off the set as soon as the shooting was wrapped, either to head into a meeting, or to fulfill my need to get as far away from Eric Northman as possible.

I had forgotten how good his food was; even the memory I had held onto for so long was nothing compared to the flavors that crossed my lips. The first course was a coriander infused artichoke, followed by a perch and truffle course with celeriac and braised garlic. By the time we reached dessert, I had decided that perhaps Eric Northman was justified in his superiority complex. Anyone who could create the meal he had presented was well worth the praise and esteem he was given. It took every ounce of self control to stop myself from licking the plate of bitter chocolate, dried berries and pistachios.

I closed my eyes to savor the last bite, and when I reopened them, I saw Eric's were trained on me. I smiled at him tentatively, wondering how long he had been watching me as I had enjoyed my food orgasm, and raised the glass of port in salute to him.

Claudine pulled out the case of champagne as soon as the last dish was cleared from the table, and made toast after toast to all the members of the staff. I knew I should have stopped after the third or fourth toast, but it had been too long since I had let loose.

I swayed in my seat as the music started to play, but declined Lafayette's offer to "get down" as he so politely phrased it. I may have been feeling a bit tipsy, but I still knew that I needed to maintain a level of professionalism with my staff, and doing the Tootsie Roll wasn't going to do me any favors in the future.

After thirty minutes of champagne drinking and sporadic dancing, everyone decided to head out to a nearby club to continue the party.

"Come on, Sook," Lafayette said, flopping down into the chair next to me. "Come out with us."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said, blinking rapidly to clear my head.

"Why not?" he asked. "I've seen you shake that fine ass of yours a time or two before. And it's not like you've gotten much action since you broke up with Alcide six months ago. It's about time you got out into the world again."

I shook my head. "You go on without me. I am just going to finish up some stuff and then go home to bed."

"Spoil sport."

"Alcoholic."

"Prude."

"Slut."

Lafayette chuckled and pushed himself up off his seat. "You know it. Call me if you change your mind and decide to drag your sorry ass out."

I left the set with Lafayette, though instead of following them outside, I headed through the darkened halls towards my office. I didn't actually think I would accomplish much after the levels of champagne I had consumed, but that didn't stop me from trying.

"Ow," I cried to no one in particular as I ran into the doorframe of my office. I stumbled over my feet as I walked towards the couch I had thrown my laptop on and kicked my shoes off before I was halfway there. "Much better."

I curled my feet underneath me and blinked at the blurry screen, shaking my head when I realized that there was no way that I'd be able to do anything with the double vision I had going on. Perhaps it would be best if I headed straight home, and that meant I needed to call a taxi so that I didn't end up heading the wrong way on the 101. I doubted it would go over as well for me as it had for Nicole Ritchie, seeing as my dad wasn't famous for dancing on the ceiling, or doing much of anything at all really.

I patted the pocket of my cardigan for my Blackberry, and let out a string of curses when I couldn't find it. The last time I'd had it was at the dinner table when I'd responded to an email one of the other network producers had sent me. I pushed off the couch and padded down the hallway to the set in my bare feet.

The lights were still on when I opened the door, and I frowned at the waste of energy. I was halfway to the table when I heard someone behind me.

"Holy shit!" I screeched and jumped in the air. Maybe on a good day I would have landed on my feet, but after four glasses of champagne, I landed in a heap on the floor. When I managed to right myself, I looked up into the amused eyes of Eric Northman. "Were you trying to scare the living daylights out of me?"

"I thought you'd left with everyone else," he said, clasping both of my hands and pulling me up to my feet.

"No," I said, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through my body at his touch. "I'm not much into the club scene. I'm surprised you didn't go though, Mr. Partypants."

He chuckled and let go of one of my hands. "I told you. I'm not really into that scene too much. That's just a publicity stunt for the show." He led me towards the set's counter and picked up a bottle of champagne. "I found another bottle. Care to share a drink with me?"

"I, uh, probably shouldn't." And I should probably let go of his hand.

"Come on," he said, "just one glass. I didn't get a chance to talk to you all night. It only seems right that the producer and the chef would share a celebratory glass of champagne since we got picked up for ten more shows."

"Claudine told you?"

"Niall did."

"Oh." I forgot his connections sometimes. "How do you know Niall?"

"He's good friends with Fintan. They were at Cambridge together." I didn't protest when Eric poured two glasses of champagne. "He's really the one that inspired me to become a chef. My father was pushing me into the family business back in Sweden, but Niall always told me to follow my dream."

"And look where it got you," I said, hopping up onto the counter behind me.

"Yes," he nodded, "look where it got me indeed." He handed me a glass before raising his own. "To you, Sookie Stackhouse."

"To me?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be the one toasting you? You are the chef after all."

He shrugged and leaned his hip against the counter next to me. "I had plenty of people toast me this evening already. I think it's only fair that the producer get her share of the glory."

"Well," I said, with a slight nod of my head, "thanks, I guess." I tipped the glass in his direction before taking a sip of the bubbly liquid.

"You're welcome," he said and followed suit.

We were silent for a moment; I was trying to figure out what to say, and suddenly feeling incredibly self conscious about the fact that I was a bit tipsy and barefoot in front of Eric.

"You've got nice feet," he said, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"You have nice feet," he repeated.

"Um… thanks?"

He chuckled and finished the glass of champagne before filling his and topping mine. "You're not very good at taking compliments, are you Sookie?"

"Not weird ones like that, no," I answered honestly.

"No," he shook his head, "you're not good at taking any compliments at all."

"I hardly think your saying my boobs," I waved my free hand in a circle over my chest, "are nice really qualifies as a compliment that calls for a response."

"They are nice," he said, his eyes darting down to the neckline of my shirt, "but I'll give you that one. Even so, I bet that you don't know how to take any kind of compliment, acceptable or not."

"Like what?" I asked, and took a long drink of my champagne. I realized I was treading into dangerous territory, but my curiosity got the better of me.

"Like," he said, leaning in and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, "what if I told you I thought you were beautiful?"

"I'd, uh…" I started breathlessly, "I'd probably say that you say that to all the girls."

"See?" he asked, smoothing out my hair and resting his hand on my shoulder. "I say something nice and you trivialize it."

"Sorry," I said, closing my eyes. "That wasn't very nice of me."

"No," he responded, lowering his voice, "it wasn't. Now that we've established that I think you're beautiful, what would you say if I told you that I've never enjoyed watching someone eat my creations more than I enjoyed watching you tonight?"

I opened my eyes and saw that his face was closer to mine than I remembered him being. I opened my mouth to respond and shut it again, frowning slightly.

"The appropriate response," he said, inching closer to me still, "is 'thank you, Eric.'"

"Thank you, Eric," I said as my heart began to pound in my chest.

"That's better," he responded, taking the glass of champagne out of my hand. "What would you say if I told you that I've thought about nothing but kissing you for the last three weeks?"

"I'd say you're full of shit," I replied, trying to pull my head back only to be stopped by the force of his hand.

"Don't, Sookie," he whispered.

"Eric, I-"

"Don't say anything." He moved the hand that was on the back of my neck, rubbing his thumb across my cheek to my mouth. "You've been driving me crazy," he said, his eyes following his thumb's movement as it traced my lips.

"I have?" I asked, my voice an unrecognizable squeak.

"You have," he nodded, his eyes meeting mine again. "I don't understand why you don't like me."

"I never said I didn't like you."

"No you didn't, but you certainly haven't given me any indication that you do." When I didn't say anything, he continued. "Do you like me, Sookie?"

I looked at him, into the depths of his blue eyes that were mere inches from my face, and at that moment I couldn't deny it anymore; not to myself and not to him. I nodded, the movement barely perceptible.

A smile curved at the corners of his lips. "Good."

"Why's that?" I asked, even though I was afraid of the answer.

"Because I've never kissed a girl who didn't like me before." And before I could respond, his lips were on me. They tasted of sweet champagne as they tentatively brushed across mine, requesting the permission through actions rather than words. When I didn't pull away, he became more aggressive, his hands cupping my face as he tasted me.

He groaned my name, and nudged my legs apart with his body. I silenced the voice of reason screaming at me in the back of my mind and savored the moment. It had been too long since I'd kissed anyone, and Eric Northman was as good of a kisser as he was a chef.

His body was hard under my roaming hands, a stark contrast to my own. I gasped when he wrapped his arms around the small of my back and pulled me fully against him. His lips trailed across my cheek, and he did deliciously wicked things to my earlobe with his mouth and tongue.

I don't know how long we would have gone on like that, or how far my champagne addled brain would have let me go with Eric, but it all stopped the second I heard voices coming towards us. I moved quicker than I had thought possible, a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins at the thought of getting caught with Eric Northman's hand up my shirt, where it had been on an exploration mission.

"Fuck," he grunted through labored breathing. I felt naked underneath his gaze; felt my blush rise up from my chest as his eyes lingered on my shirt. I looked down and immediately tugged the fabric down to cover the skin he had exposed. "Sookie," he whispered. "Come home with me."

I shook my head, and took one step backwards, then two, then two more. "I can't… we shouldn't have… shit," I cursed, tripping over my feet. He took a step towards me, reaching out to help me regain my balance. I waved him off, and spun on my heel, scurrying out of the studio as fast as I could.

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't see Lafayette and Claudine until I ran into them.

"Sookie!" Lafayette laughed, bracing me with his large hands. "Where are you running off to so quickly."

"Lafayette! Claudine!" Shit. If they had been only two minutes earlier, my career could've been ruined. I silently thanked the timing gods. "I, uh… I left my phone at the table and I think my taxi may be here." Of course, I hadn't hadn't grabbed my phone in my hasty retreat, nor had I ordered a taxi, but they didn't need to know that.

Lafayette shook his head with a chuckle. "No, there ain't no taximan waiting outside. Well, 'cept ours of course."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. "Aren't you supposed to be at the club?"

"We was at the club," Lafayette drawled, "but then Miss Thing here wanted to come back and try to convince that fine ass Northman to come out with us. You seen him?"

I had seen him alright; and felt, and tasted and devoured him like the bitter chocolate dessert on my plate earlier.

"Yeah. He's, uh, in the studio."

"You sure you don't want to come out with us? Russell and Amelia are putting on quite the show on the dance floor."

"No," I shook my head, "I should probably get home."

"Well, at least let us drop you off on our way back to the club. You know how unreliable taxis are in this town."

He had a point, and my apartment wasn't too far out of the way for them.

"Okay," I nodded. "That's a good idea. Let me just go grab my things. I'll meet you out front."

I sprinted down the darkened hallways, letting out a sigh of relief when I crossed the threshold to my office. I didn't have time to sink down to the floor like I wanted to, and instead hastily threw my shoes on. It wasn't until I was standing up from getting my bag when I saw myself in the mirror that hung over my desk. I looked like a train wreck, or at least a woman who had been up to no good. My normally coifed hair was nothing more than a jumble from Eric's fingers; my lips looked puffy, like I had been kissed; and my skin was flushed with a combination of lust and embarrassment.

I wondered if Lafayette or Claudine had noticed my freshly devoured look, and finally managed to convince myself that they hadn't, since neither was likely to keep quiet for very long about something like that. I smoothed out my hair as best as I could and hurried outside, and hopefully far, far away from Eric.

I wasn't so lucky. Eric was standing outside waiting for me while Lafayette and Claudine shared a cigarette.

"Look who we found!" Claudine called out, inclining her head towards Eric.

"Oh." I was a veritable linguist. "Hey Eric."

"Hi Sookie." His voice was rough, and made the pit of my stomach fall out. "You seemed to have forgotten something in the studio."He held up my phone, just out of my reach.

"Thanks," I said, snatching it out of his hand. My fingers brushed his, and I did my best to ignore the tingly sensation they gave me. "Are you going out with them?"

He shrugged. "Are you?"

I shook my head. "They're, uh… going to drop me off at my apartment."

"Oh." He looked disappointed, which I was sure that I was imagining. "That's too bad." Okay, maybe I hadn't been imagining it after all.

Claudine and Lafayette finished their cigarette and yelled at us to get into the taxi. "You sit in the middle, you sweet thing," Lafayette called. "Right between Chef Northman and me."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was only a fifteen minute ride to my apartment. So I would be wedged against the man who I would do best to stay far away from? It wasn't like anything could happen with Claudine and Lafayette in the car with us.

He didn't do anything at all, but that didn't make the ride any less torturous. His scent enveloped me in the taxi, overriding the musky scent of the cab's previous passengers; his thigh felt heavy and warm pressed against my own; and when his fingers brushed against the top of my leg, I thought I was going to jump out of my seat. The drive couldn't go fast enough as far as I was concerned.

I was ready to climb over Eric when we pulled up in front of my building, but figured that wouldn't really help the situation out. I said my goodbyes to Claudine and Lafayette, both of whom tried to convince me one last time to go out with them.

Eric opened the door and climbed out before me, offering his hand to help me out of the taxi.

"Thanks," I said, quickly dropping his hand.

He leaned into the taxi and told Claudine and Lafayette that he was going to see me to my door. I couldn't make out what they said in response, but based on their hoots and hollers, I was happy to remain oblivious.

"You don't have to walk me to my door. I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

Eric scowled down at me and took the crook of my arm. "I am fully aware of your competency, Sookie." He was silent as we walked to the front door, and turned to face me before I put my key in the door. "We need to talk."

"No, I am fairly sure we don't."

"We kissed each other."

"Yes, I am fully aware of that."

"I want to kiss you again," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you actually."

I was grateful to the darkness for covering the flush that his words incited. I shook my head. "We can't..."

"Why not?" he asked. "I like you, and I know you like me. You said so yourself. What's the problem?"

"We work together! It would be complicated. People would talk."

"So? Russell and Talbot work together too and no one cares that they're dating."

I shook my head. "I can't talk about this now. Claudine and Lafayette are waiting."

Eric looked over his shoulder at the waiting cab. "When?"

"Later," I said, opening the door to my building. More like never if I had anything to with it. "Goodnight, Eric."

"This isn't over, Sookie," he said, then turned on his heel and walked back to the waiting taxi.

...

I had managed to avoid all contact with the Eric, despite his numerous attempts. I chose to bury myself in work, spending almost two straight weeks with the post-production team, preparing the episodes for the air. I decided to take a few days off after the last episode was complete, and was pulling into the gates of the Bon Temps community to have dinner with Gran when my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sookie, it's Claudine."

"Hey," I said, and climbed out of my low convertible. I was surprised to hear from Claudine. She made a strict policy of not contacting her vacationing staff unless there was an emergency. "Is something wrong?"

"What?" she asked. "No. Not at all actually."

"Then what's up?"

"I just got out of a meeting with Niall. He's very impressed with what you put together on Eric's show. He wants to meet with you tomorrow. I know you've got the day off, but I was hoping you would come in. He's leaving for Paris on Wednesday."

I hadn't met with Niall more than twice in my entire career at the network, and knew that you didn't ever say no to a meeting with him.

"Sure," I said. Claudine gave me the time and location, and I was deep in thought as I walked into the building.

"There you are!" Gran exclaimed the minute she saw me. "I was wondering if you were going to make it."

I looked down at my watch. "I am only five minutes late, Gran."

"Yes," she nodded, and grabbed my hand, "well I've got something special arranged for us and we can't be late." She pulled me along behind her, stopping before an unfamiliar door. "Now, you promise to be on your best behavior?" I looked at her incredulously and nodded. "Good."

She opened the door to reveal a small room that had a table for four set up for dining. "What is this?" I asked, turning towards Gran.

"Hello Sookie," a deep, familiar voice said from the open doorway across the room. I looked over and saw Eric standing there, looking downright edible in a light blue sweater,

"Eric?" I turned to Gran. "Gran, what's going on?"

"You've been working so hard lately, I thought I would get you a special treat. And when Fintan told me his grandson here was a chef, I asked him if he'd make a special dinner for us."

"Which he gladly agreed to," Fintan said from behind Eric.

It was all a bit too contrived for my taste. Almost scripted. "What are you trying to do, Gran?"

"Me?" she asked with mock innocence, covering her chest with her hand. "Why in the world would you think I am doing anything but providing my favorite granddaughter with a special treat? Now sit down."

I looked at her skeptically before shrugging my shoulders. She was up to something alright, but I knew that when Gran was in one of her moods, there was no stopping her. Hopefully I could get out of here quickly and painlessly.

I wasn't so fortunate. No sooner had I sat down than Maudette popped her head into the room and reminded Gran and Fintan of a meeting they were supposed to attend.

I glared at Gran as she made her excuses and stood up from the table. They were both out of the door before I could stop them.

"Well," Eric said, "it appears we have been set up."

"Don't even pretend you didn't play a role in this Northman," I said. I wouldn't put it past him to use our grandparents to get me to finally talk to him.

"I didn't," he replied with a shrug. "Fintan asked me to cook a meal for some friends of his. I had no idea it was you, though I can't pretend that I wasn't pleased when I saw you."

He didn't appear to be lying; and I wouldn't put it past Gran to pull one of her get-Sookie-to-date-again schemes, especially after she found out that I knew Eric.

"Honest," he said and held his hands up.

"Whatever. I should probably go..." I said, moving to stand up. Having dinner with Eric was still outside of my realm of comfort.

"Don't," he said, reaching out and clasping my wrist with his hand. I looked down at his grip before meeting his eyes. "I have everything made already. I wouldn't want it to go to waste." I didn't say anything, but didn't move either. "Please, Sookie?"

One look into his eyes and I knew I was done. "Well, I suppose I can stay for a bit. It'd be a shame to throw away your cooking."

"Good," he said, and released my arm. "Sit tight. I will just go and grab the first course."

He returned shortly thereafter, holding two plates. I gasped when he set one down in front of me; it was the same dish I had eaten all those years ago in Stockholm; the dish that had introduced Eric Northman to my world. Little did I know exactly how he'd fit into it then; not that I had fully figured out how he fit into it now.

"Is that okay?" he asked. I looked up to see his expectant eyes on me. He looked...well, nervous is the best word I could think of. "You don't have to eat it of you don't like scallops."

"No!" I exclaimed. "No, it looks perfect."

A smile crossed his face as he sat down next to me. "Then what was the gasp about?"

I thought about making something up, but decided that he deserved to know the truth.

"You've made this for me before," I said, picking up my fork.

"I did?" he asked with a smirk. "When, pray tell, was that? When I was asleep?"

"No," I shook my head. "At your restaurant in Stockholm."

A look of confusion crossed his face. "When?" he finally asked.

"Four years ago. I was in Europe with my boyfriend at the time and your restaurant came highly recommended."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, taking a bite of his food. I tried to tear my eyes away from his mouth, but wasn't very successful. "And did you like it?"

"I'd say 'like' is an understatement," I said with a chuckle, before taking a bite as well. I heard myself groan as the familiar flavor crossed my lips.

"And you didn't feel like giving your compliments to the chef?"

"I did," I said with a shrug, "Bill, on the other hand, didn't. He was eager to get back to the hotel, and…" I trailed off, embarrassed that I was even referencing sex in Eric's presence.

"Sounds like a real asshole to me."

I laughed and took another bite. "That's certainly a description I've used for him before."

Our conversation remained light as we finished the main course. And when I had finished the last bite on my plate, he picked it up went back to the kitchen, returning with a lemon tart that had my mouth watering.

"It's a shame you didn't ditch him right then and come back to introduce yourself," he said after I took my first bite.

"What?" I asked with my mouth full.

"That night you were in Stockholm. It was a shame that you didn't come back and see me."

"Why's that?" I asked, licking a drop of sauce off the edge of my fork.

"Because I'm sure I could have convinced you to go on a date with me back then. Before the complications you pointed out the night of the party."

I froze with my fork in midair. "Eric-"

"No," he shook his head, "I've been trying to talk to you about this for two weeks and you continue to blow me off."

"There's nothing to say…"

"There's plenty to say, Sookie."

"We kissed. We were drinking… things got a little out of control. End of story."

He stared at me for a moment as he took a drink of water. "What if I don't want it to be the end of that particular story?" I didn't respond. "I wasn't drunk. And neither were you. Well, not drunk enough to blame the alcohol for kissing me."

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. He was right. Even if I had been feeling tipsy, I had been in full control of myself. I couldn't lie and tell myself that I hadn't enjoyed kissing him. I'd say my vivid dreams over the past two weeks were proof enough that I wanted Eric Northman. But wanting and doing are two entirely separate things.

"I haven't stopped thinking about the way you felt against me." He reached out and traced my wrist with his thumb. "Haven't stopped wondering if you taste as good as I remember."

"Eric…" I said, breathless from his mere touch.

"We're good together, Sookie. You've got to admit that."

"We argue with each other all the time," I pointed out, though I didn't pull my hand away.

"Lots of couples argue."

"We're not a couple, Eric. I'm your producer."

"We could change that," he said, as if it would be that easy. "I want to see if we can be as good as I think we can, Sookie. I want to take you out on a date; a real date."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead with my free hand. The offer was too tempting with his hands on me. I had to remind myself that it could never, ever happen.

"I don't date people I work with." There. I said it. There really wasn't much you could say to argue with that.

He tried. Of course he tried. "Sookie," he said, continuing to trace my wrist, "don't give up on this because of some stupid rule."

"It's not stupid," I said, and pulled my hand away finally. "What if I agreed to go on a date with you? What if we started dating? What happens when it ends, and we still have to see each other every day at work?"

"Who's to say that would happen?"

"Who's to say it wouldn't?" I asked. "I've got to go Eric. It was a bad idea to stay."

He didn't say anything as I stood up and pushed back from the table. He waited until I was near the door to stop me. "Don't let the fear of what could happen stop you. That's no way to live."

I shook my head, and turned back to walk out the door.

...

I had a hard time sleeping after dinner with Eric. At about three am, I vehemently wished that I had never seen the softer side of Eric. If I only knew the Eric I had first met, the one with the quick wit and proclivity for harassment, I wouldn't think twice about his offer for a date. But after seeing him with his grandfather, after spending the time alone that we had, I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted.

I gave up trying to sleep at five-thirty and set about occupying myself until my lunch meeting with Claudine and Niall.

The meeting had started out innocuously enough, with Niall discussing my work on Eric's show. I had expected it to be an atta-boy meeting, and was startled when the real reason for the meeting came to light. I had pitched an idea for a new show to Claudine at the beginning of the year – a show where a chef traveled around the country visiting food havens – and Niall said that after my work on Eric's show, he was willing to give the idea a try, but only with me as executive producer.

It would be a promotion, and include a rather large increase in salary. It would mean a lot more traveling, and frankly a lot more work, but I was thrilled by the opportunity. To have one of my ideas turned into a reality was beyond my wildest dreams.

I left the meeting in a daze, and drove around LA aimlessly for two hours as I processed what had just happened. So much had changed in my life over the past two months. I had gone through one of life's many evolutionary cycles, and yet again could only think of one person to attribute it to. I found myself in front of an unfamiliar house, though I knew the address well, and climbed out of the car before I could chicken out.

I took a deep breath when I reached the door, and had to talk myself into ringing the doorbell. I almost turned around any number of times before the door swung open.

"Sookie!" Eric said, looking as shocked to see me as I was to be there. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh…" I trailed off. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he said and took a step back to let me in. He was in a pair of track pants and a tank top, his hair glistening with water as if I had caught him fresh out of the shower. "Sorry," he said, picking up a stack of papers on his couch, "I wasn't expecting company."

"I don't mean to intrude –"

"You're not intruding," he interrupted. "Is everything okay?"

I sat down and took a deep breath. "Yeah," I nodded with a smile. "Yeah, everything is okay. Brilliant, actually."

He quirked his eyebrow and took a seat next to me, turning to face me on the sofa. "What happened?"

And I told him. I told him about my meeting with Niall; about my idea for the show; about my drive around town as I thought about how my life would change, how my life had changed.

"And, I ended up here…" I trailed off at the end.

"And you ended up here," he repeated. His brows furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side. "But I still don't understand why you ended up here."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" he asked, looking even more confused.

"For being you," I said with a shrug. "For being the person who makes me change."

"I didn't do anything."

"Maybe not, but I wanted to thank you anyway."

"You're… you're welcome?" he asked with a quizzical raise of his eyebrow.

"I, uh… also wanted to tell you that I'm not your producer anymore."

"Oh," he said, sitting back against the back of the couch. "I hadn't thought about that. Shit, I guess this is kind of bad news for me, eh?"

"You could look at it that way…"

"How else would I look at it?" he asked. "Working with a new producer is hell."

"Well… since I'm not your producer, we don't technically work together anymore."

I almost laughed as I saw the realization cross his face. He sat up straighter and leaned towards me. "What are you saying, Sookie?" he asked.

I closed my eyes. "I was thinking about what you said last night. It kept me up all night actually. About not letting fear stop me before I even get started on something." I opened my eyes to see him watching me intently.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying Sookie?"

"That I want to date you?" I asked with a shrug. "Absolutely. If you'll still have me."

He didn't say anything; he showed me with words instead of actions, pulling me towards him as his lips sought out mine. My body strained to be closer to his, and I hastily closed the distance between us, stopping only when he was underneath me. He didn't protest when I pulled the hem of his black tank top over his head, nor did I protest when he did the same to mine. His hands were everywhere at once, touching, kneading and tugging at me; only when he unhooked my bra did I come up for air.

"I take that as a yes?" I asked, holding the cups of my bra up with one hand and tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear with the other.

"Yes," he nodded and tugging at the bra straps that were hanging on my arm. "That's a definite yes." I let go, tossing the lacy material to the side.

"What?" I asked when he didn't move.

"I was just thinking..."

"What?" I asked again, feeling self conscious about his reaction to my state of undress.

"You said it would take a miracle before I would get to see these." He reached out and traced a finger down the valley of my breasts, sending a shiver down my spine.

I laughed, leaning forward and resting my forehead against his. "I don't know what else to attribute it to, Miracle Man."

"Me neither," he said, looking up at me with a smile. "But I sure as hell believe."


End file.
